


Bart Prompt Week

by Fauna96



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Ancient Rome, Crossover, Gen, Inspired by The Witcher, and bart the commoner, annnd there its, anyway, bart is a softie, bart prompt week 2020, in which kitty is the magician, nat the djinni, the angst, with hp, you can find it all on tumblr too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fauna96/pseuds/Fauna96
Summary: I Prompt: SpringtimeAnd my master was turning in something like a wandering and drizzling sleaze mop.I watched as he cleaned his nose for what was the thousandth time in twenty minutes.
Relationships: Bartimaeus & Nathaniel (Bartimaeus), Bartimaeus & Ptolemy (Bartimaeus), Bartimaeus & Queezle (Bartimaeus), Bartimaeus/Queezle (Bartimaeus), Kitty Jones & Nathaniel, Kitty Jones/Nathaniel, a little bit - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. About pollens and palms

**Author's Note:**

> Here are all the stories I've written on Tumblr for Bart Prompt Week. The first prompt was Springtime and this is set somewhere between Golem's eye and Ptolemy's Gate. You know, when Nat was still decent.  
> Since every chapter is a different story, I'll add more characters and tags.

Ah, springtime! Nature awakens, birds resume their singing, flowers bloom everywhere…

«At-choooo!» And my master was turning in something like a wandering and drizzling sleaze mop.

I watched as he cleaned his nose for what was the thousandth time in twenty minutes.

«You’re splashing your very precious documents with spit and snot, my lord».

The glare he gave me would have been maybe more effective if he hadn’t had his eyes puffed and red like a basset hound. «Shud ub» he wheezed.

I grinned at him cheerfully. «Sorry, what have you said? You’re not speaking clearly, can’t understand. You could have given me _any_ order…»

Nathaniel made a frustrated noise and threw away his pen. «I know. In your opinion, why haven’t I dismissed you yed?»

Well, yes, in fact here was the problem: even pronouncing a quite simple formula like the one for temporary dismiss could have elicited disastrous consequences.[1] Therefore he was stuck: he couldn’t give me orders, nor actually dared to show his face (with dripping nose and all) in the office; the only thing he had left to do was paperwork. Which, anyway, he wasn’t doing very well, if I can say so.

It was a wearying situation, I’ll admit it; luckily, he had at his disposal a brilliant, resourceful djinni, who could cheer him up with… I looked down: the great and powerful John Mandrake, the youngest minister of Internal Affairs of all ages, had his head buried in his desk and seemed to aspire to being suffocated by his own paperwork.

«Ehm» I got closer warily. «Are you dead?»

As an answer, I got a moan mixed with a sniff. Pretty pathetic, if you want my opinion. I rolled my eyes. «Listen, make yourself a chamomile or something like that. And then, go to bed and stop doing such a scene».

Two teary eyes stared at me from below.

«A… chamomile?»

«Exactly. You’ll know what it is, I hope».

The boy knew perfectly what it was, but he had no idea how to make it. After witnessing a pitiful dragging to the kitchen and likewise attempts to make the water boil,[2] I decided to take the matter in my hands.

«You’re lucky» I commented tartly «that I have had various careers. And you’re lucky that poor Akhenaton suffered even more than you, so I had to hover over him, hold his hand and his handkerchief».

He frowned and blew on the hot liquid. «Aghenadon was Egyptian. How gould he suffer frob hay fever?»

I shrugged. «There are oases, you know. Pollen from… palms».

He kept staring at me unconvinced. The chamomile, meanwhile, he guzzled down all.

[1] Disastrous for him sure, but unluckily for me too. Wrong formulas are unpredictable: he could have made me materialize in tub of boiling oil or something like that.

[2] I highlight, _make the water boil_. So forth, he wouldn’t be even able to eat on his own.


	2. Someone will remember (you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> II Prompt: Favourite Line

_«It's two thousand, one hundred and twenty-nine years since Ptolemy died», he said. «He was fourteen. Eight world empires have risen up and fallen away since that day, and I still carry his face. Who do_ you _think's the lucky one?»_

_Kitty made no answer. At length, she asked, «Why do you do it? Take on his shape, I mean»._

_«Because I promised myself», the djinni said. «I’m showing him how he was. Before he changed»._

The first magician who summoned me after Ptolemy was Roman. Obviously. The fact in itself was predictable enough: Rome was rising very quickly, every magician with a scrap of ambition and power was gathering there, trying to get into some magistrate’s good graces or, if they had that inclination, become themselves magistrates.

I didn’t dragged that charge out; I didn’t want to stay in Rome a moment more than necessary, I just wanted to go home, where at least I’d have been free to remember Ptolemy in the endless vortex of the Other Place. He would have liked that.

Of course, after that first summoning in Rome, there was a second one and a third one, and about none of them I remember details. I wasn’t interested. Rome was chaotic and filthy as any other city and I had already enough of it. I missed the desert, the blinding sun and the clear blue of the sky that made your eyes tear, the dry wind that took me up when as a falcon I flew far away…

The cat stretched out, without tearing his eyes away from its objective, a guy obsessed by agriculture. Yes, I mean, he was a magistrate of some kind who was trying to improve the lives of everyone, so, obviously, he was a dangerous subject. I wasn’t very interested in the thing: just kill him and be over with it.[1]

The cat has always been one of the best shapes for espionage assignments in cities: it’s versatile and no one pays attention to it. And in Rome, in the end, cats crowd every street and square.

I scampered behind my prey, who seemed a little too much carefree for a man going around and doing dangerous speeches in Senate.[2]

The streets were crowded, as usual, and teeming with children playing, running, letting their hand wander. No one really cared about them.

I hesitated. In the end, where was the harm? A kid is still a kid, anywhere he is. _Whoever_ he is. It would have been a shape like others, but… well. It was the only thing I could do, after all: carry on his image, bright and young as I remembered him.

At the tribune’s heels now there wasn’t a cat anymore, but a dark-skinned boy, dressed simply, with big, black eyes. For a moment, he met his eyes reflected in a puddle, and, quickly, looked away.

[1] Actually, that was exactly what happened. Whoops.

[2] Fine, _any_ speech was dangerous in Senate. Especially if it was about money and land, that, after all, were the same thing.


	3. There's something about McDonald's at night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real Kitty stared at it, then said: «I seem a lot more epic than what I am. Brains don’t give that glorifying aura, they just stain».

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> III Prompt: AU  
> Urban Fantasy AU heavily inspired by a modern version of The Witcher. You know, monster hunters but with McDonalds and smartphones.

Kitty pulled out the silver blade from the monster’s belly and with it came out tangled bowels and black blood with a satisfying slimy noise. Satisfying for Kitty, at least; Nathaniel, behind her, was doing his best to not throw up.

Kitty turned to him, her long dark hair swirling. «When I say to stay away, stay. Away».

Nathaniel gulped. He would have wanted to reply that he had to see, had to take notes and, why not, take some picture, otherwise their little business would have gone bankrupt, but the incubus’ claws had come too much near his face to protest. Until he remembered that _he_ had predicted with extreme precision that the monster at issue was an incubus, but Kitty no, oh, she never listened to him, she had to enter the fray without even discussing with him about the evidences that he, Nathaniel, had collected and studied laboriously…

During the time it took collecting the payment and looking for a McDonald’s nearby, their quarrel had time to blow up, load up and, in the end, decrease together with adrenaline. Now they were sitting silently in front of plastic tray, Kitty’s eyes half-closed and her head lolling, Nathaniel scrolling absent-mindedly Instagram. When he came across the umpteenth picture of Jane Farrar soaking in her swimming pool, decided it was time to turn off the Wi-Fi.

Kitty stirred herself, took an onion ring from Nathaniel and asked what time it was.

«Three and thirty-five. Why don’t you ever take onion rings for you?»

«Because it’s only fried, Nat. Not good for health» Kitty grinned lazily at him and Nathaniel rolled his eyes.

Silence fell again, except for the quiet music from the radio. Nathaniel skimmed the pages of his notebook, dense with notes and drawings.

«Did you draw me again?» Nathaniel slammed the cover shut, feeling his cheeks burning. Kitty laughed. «I know that you draw me fighting. I don’t understand what you find in it, but I’d like to see, for once».

Nathaniel didn’t dare to look up. «Well, you take some… plastic shapes, while you’re fighting» _God, what are you saying?_ «I need them for practice».

«Very well, but may I see?»

Nathaniel huffed, tore away quickly a page with a charcoal sketch and handed it to her. «Happy?»

It was some months old by now; it showed Kitty focused on pulling free her sword from a shapeless mass, her hair wild, her face splashed with monster blood.

The real Kitty stared at it, then said: «I seem a lot more epic than what I am. Brains don’t give that glorifying aura, they just stain».

Nathaniel shrugged and said nothing. It was better.

He let his gaze wander around the half-void room: a group of kids, maybe back from disco; a young man with headphones on, examining critically his hamburger; two nurses from the night shift checking their watches.

There was something weird.

Nathaniel wasn’t a monster hunter like Kitty; he was a scholar, he could set out traps and knew inside out every weaknesses of their preys. Of course, he couldn’t kill them. He wasn’t able to do it, he would never be probably, but this didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize signs. And he did feel something wrong. His nose told him so: he smelt, occasional and light, a faint trace of sulphur.

His pulse told him so, suddenly quickening, because his body had felt the presence of a predator.

«Kitty» he hissed. «Kitty!»

Kitty startled, her fingers still on the drawing. «What?»

Nathaniel made a vague gesture towards the room. «Something’s wrong» he murmured.

Kitty blinked. She put her fingers on her wrist and Nathaniel saw her counting silently. She straightened herself imperceptibly. «Who?»

Nathaniel shrugged. «I’d exclude those kids: they’re too much, even if there is one between them, why bring all of them here?»

«It’s only one» Kitty added. «We’d have felt, if they were more».

«So» Nathaniel cut himself: the two nurses were leaving. They still didn’t go around the corner that the young man with headphones was standing, and then out.

Nathaniel and Kitty waited a few seconds, then chased him. It was important reaching him without creating suspicions, but as important as coming before the killing started.

Kitty was ready, her senses alert, her hand on the sword; Nathaniel, some steps behind, was reviewing mentally various demons and their weaknesses and –

They stopped. It was gone.

Kitty grabbed Nathaniel’s sleeve and drawn him near, her heart painfully heavy in her chest. Fuck. Fuck.

«Are you done following me?»

Kitty’s instinct was faster than anything else: she sprang and hit.

«Hey! It’s silver, take it easy!» The creature had appeared from darkness, a palm dripping colourless, bright blood. «Easy! It’s you attacking me, what do you want?»

Most of monsters didn’t talk; they weren’t sentient at all, actually. Demons, some of them, could talk, but they didn’t do it very much; and neither they stared at you scowling, without attacking you while you were ready to slice them.

«There’s something weird» Nathaniel whispered at Kitty’s ear. The demon clearly heard him, for it bellowed: «Of course there’s something weird! I was minding my own business and two kids follow me and try and kill me! Tell me, are you high?»

«It’s our job» Kitty replied icily. «You were going to kill two women. We kill you».

«Oh, really? Do you see corpses anywhere? Did I eat them, maybe?» he cut off. «Well, I might have done it, actually. But I’d be covered in blood, don’t you think?»

«I didn’t say you have killed them, I say you wanted to do it. You went out after them» said Kitty, and Nathaniel saw she was losing her patience. For his part, he was starting to feel a headache crawling up his cervical.

«Oh oh, and where is your evidence?» Kitty stared at it. Nathaniel felt all the surreality of the situation. Were they really arguing with a demon at four in the morning?

«It’s what you do» he cut short.

The demon raised an eyebrow. « ‘til now, crazy killers are just the two of you». Nathaniel now could see its white, sharp fangs. «You know, we’re not all maniacs. And I have no interest in killing humans. I just wanted a bloody milkshake. And _now_ I was going home».

Nathaniel was starting to wonder if there was something strange in his onion rings, actually. Or maybe it’d have been better quitting with sugary drinks. Kitty was still holding his arm, but her blade had lowered of few centimetres.

«What are you?» she whispered.

The demon made a face and touched cautiously the cut on its hand. «It’s not nice asking something like that! Listen, why don’t we all come back to Mc’s and _mayyybe_ talk like civilized people?»


	4. The heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Until one, among the many voices whispering at his ear, had commented that his cousin, the youngest, the one uncapable of stretch a bow even, yes, he seemed to have dangerous interests. Interests for magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IV Prompt: Least favourite character  
> It wasn't very easy choosing one because... well, the antagonists are good antagonists. You know, the kind you love to hate.

He was the only legitimate son; he was the heir, there was no doubt about it. Of course, unless someone took the throne by force. But those things hadn’t happened for too much long so that prince Ptolemy would worry about.

Until one, among the many voices whispering at his ear, had commented that his cousin, the youngest, the one uncapable of stretch a bow even, yes, he seemed to have dangerous interests. Interests for magic.

In the beginning, the prince had dismissed everything with a laugh: that kid, a magician? A dangerous magician, moreover? Little credible, ridiculous.

But it was hard getting that woodworm out of his head once it had started digging in.

He started spying on him, but that brought little to no satisfaction. What his cousin was doing was going to the Library, talking with various scholars, going to the spice markets. This order. And that was it.

Or, at least, it was for a while. Because it became difficult to ignore the queues of people asking his advice. To a kid and not to him, the legitimate heir, their prince! Ridiculous! But dangerous, _dangerous, my lord. Something must be done, stop him, kill him_ … were whispering the voices around him.

_Killing him?_ the prince wondered. He was a child, after all. _He’s a magician, he’s a magician, he wants the power, if not now, let some years pass and you’ll see_ , the voices insisted.

Prince Ptolemy rummaged his wine and thought. He listened to his spies and ruminated.

When he would meet his cousin in the hallways or in the gardens, he bowed deeply, and so did the scholar or the scribe near him, even if…

Also happened, at night, when the prince came back stumbling to his rooms, that he would see an oil lamp burning on his cousin’s flat roof; and there the boy was perched on, writing, or reading, or looking around… or talking with the lapwing scampering on the edge.

Even drunk and in the dark, the prince could see that there was a real conversation running between them. The lapwing flapped its wings; the boy laughed.

His hands trembling, the prince locked his door. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he would have visited his cousin.


	5. The djinni, the thief and the magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathanael didn’t like very much kidnapping kids; but he didn’t like disobeying orders either and being punished, so there wasn’t a lot of alternatives. Moreover, the kid in question had trashed like an eel and he was able to kick his shin with a boot that must have something of iron, because it stung a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V Prompt: Role reversal
> 
> Kudos if you guess where I've taken from Kitty's name and surname as a magician

Agnes Pole had a secret, a secret that could have her killed. The fact was, she didn’t choose to keep this secret; it had just happened.

They made it easy, telling you to forget your birth name; but for Agnes it had been impossible. It wasn’t that she didn’t try: at night, when she was still a child, she used to close her eyes, squeezing them hard, and she tried with all her force to expel that memory: her mother’s voice calling ‘Kitty’.

Obviously, she couldn’t do it; and, as much obviously, no one knew it, less of all her master. After all, she was the one to issue Agnes, as her first lesson, to not trust anyone; and, implied, her too. So, Agnes had kept her mouth sealed; she hadn’t even dared to say out loud that forbidden name.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw Agnes Pole: a young woman with short, soft dark hair, her mouth constantly bending in a pleasing smile. She didn’t know how Kitty looked like, except for a lost five-year-old child.

Her sensor net started ringing in her ear; a moment later, at her window a pigeon materialized. Agnes made it come in and immediately it took the shape of a pale-faced young man in a grey suit.

«Mistress» he said, bowing slightly «I think I’ve found him».

***

Nathanael was her regular demon for a few years, now; it was one of the first djinn with a considerable power that she had summoned, and, in the beginning, she had found it irritating without an exact reason. Really there wasn’t a reason, because the demon was precise, quiet and impeccable. Every magician’s dream.

But it was fussy, fastidious too, and with a hidden slyness capable to turn any order inside out, Agnes knew it. However, it _was_ efficient; and, as Whitwell always said, finding efficient servants, and silent in addition, was extremely rare. So, Agnes had kept it and, in the end, there had been vantages: just to start, learning to give orders precise and crystal-clear. Then, she had found out Nathanael was a real font of knowledge and, if you made it the right questions, you would have obtained all the answers you wanted. If she had to describe her servant with a word, Agnes would have used ‘competent’.

And it really was (take _that,_ Farrar), because it had been successful in individuate one of the thieves of artefacts that were driving all Tallow’s department and police mad.

Agnes, as the Chief of Security’s apprentice, had been placed to investigate on the series of thefts; in the beginning, she had to admit that, as a job, didn’t please her much: she hated work office, she’d have liked more to be thrown in action. Whitwell, in front of her complains, had barely risen an eyebrow. «You’re still an apprentice, Agnes» she had replied. «Be careful to not fool yourself. You’re clever and you have talent, but use your brain before talking. A work office, as you call it, could do you well».

Agnes had bitten her tongue. As she had to do every time she had met Farrar and had to endure a barrage of gibes.

And now, instead… «A very good job. Nathanael» she commented, leant on the car seat.

The young man near her tilted his head. «Thank you, mistress» he murmured, but Agnes could catch all the surprise behind the courteous tone. It wasn’t very usual that Agnes deemed her demon worthy of more than orders, but it was a particular occasion. «If everything goes well tonight, I’ll dismiss you for a while».

«Now let’s not exaggerate, mistress» the demon’s face was always pale and serious, but Agnes thought she could catch an… amused? glint behind the icy eyes.

Oh, why not? It had deserved it, at least. Of course, she would have to do without her most trusted servant, but it would have been a little time. She was perfectly capable to look after herself. It would have been weird, though, not having the tall, lanky shape behind her shoulders, silent as a shadow and as much as loyal…

«We are here» Nathanael murmured. «Do you see that corner over there? He passes over there every night to go to his… hideout. I think he has some hiding place under the bricks, because he always takes some minute there. And in that minute, he’s distracted».

Agnes nodded, without tearing her eyes away from the road. She made a gesture towards the djinni, and it slithered out the half-closed window as a curl of smoke.

They didn’t have to wait long: a figure was coming close with quick, measured steps. It stopped at the corner as expected.

And then there was a noise of struggle, a furious shout suffocated, then the boot opened up and something was thrown in.

***

Nathanael didn’t like very much kidnapping kids; but he didn’t like disobeying orders either and being punished, so there wasn’t a lot of alternatives. Moreover, the kid in question had trashed like an eel and he was able to kick his shin with a boot that must have something of iron, because it stung a lot.

He and his mistress had taken him to an old abandoned library that they had used many times during various occasions. Miss Pole looked at the boy still passed out at her feet. To be truthful, there wasn’t real age difference between the magician and the commoner, but her posture, her clothes and everything made Agnes Pole always look older.

Nathanael looked at her at the corner of his eye while she seemed to review mentally what ask to the commoner. And probably, repeating herself to be calm and rational, a thing that wasn’t always Agnes Pole’s forte, despite her excellent teacher. Nathanael wrinkled slightly his nose thinking about Whitwell. Old vulture.

The boy made a sudden moan and his eyes opened wide. Nathanael saw them searching the room for a way out, then they rested on the two of them.

«Move and my demon will tear you apart».

The boy didn’t move. Then, unexpectedly he made a dazzling grin, shining on his dark face.

«Hello» he said.

Well, that wasn’t the reaction Nathanael was expecting, frankly. And neither did his mistress, holding her lips tight while the commoner kept watching them from below.

«What could have I done to deserve such an honour? Kidnapped by a magician?» he winked with a mischievous expression, that little did suit a dirty boy, curled on the floor.

Nathanael saw clearly his mistress’ patience decrease; were they alone, he would have whispered to her to stay calm, tranquil: she was in charge, as usual.

But Agnes tightened her fists lightly and took a deep breath. «I want you to answer my questions, quickly» she said. «And maybe I could think even to let you go».

The boy sneered. «Of course, miss magician. And you give me a lift home, don’t you? No one believes it, not even your demon. You caught me, you won. I don’t know what else you want».

«The Resistance. I want your accomplices».

Fell a… curious silence. The boy grew quiet, then he spoke directly to Nathanael. «Did you tell her I’m from the Resistance? Because I stole some scrap metal? Oh dear!» And he burst out laughing so loud that the walls resounded. «I’m sorry, o most powerful magician» he could stammer out «but your demon dropped a clanger here. I work on my own».

«So do you steal artefacts just for an hobby of yours?» Agnes asked, her voice dangerously sweet. «And _only_ magical objects, not simple jewels?»

«Ah, that is a little secret of mine, sorry. Anyway, of course I sell them. At the black market, but that surely you know. And surely you know that they’ll go to the Resistance or whatever. But I don’t want anything to do with them. I work on my own, told you».

Agnes smiled. «So those two… the kid following you anywhere and that girl so pretty… aren’t they your accomplices?»

A shadow passed on the boy’s cheeky face. _Here we are_ , Nathanael thought.

«No» he spelt out. «They…»

«Don’t you think they’ll live better out that hole of yours? Maybe that kid would stop coughing so much».

The boy gulped and stared both in the eyes. «Look. I am a thief, it’s true. But I am not from the Resistance. You can promise me all you want, magician, but I can’t give you what I haven’t, and I haven’t any names nor addresses. If you want to throw me in jail for theft or say that I’m a terrorist, do it. It’s my word against yours, isn’t it?» His dark eyes lingered on Nathanael. «Oh, the demon, sure. You could have me tortured by it. Surely I could sing then, but I wouldn’t trust me too much. Always had a low pain tolerance level».

«Mistress» Nathanael whispered. «A word».

Agnes stepped back and tilted her head toward him. The boy’s sharp eyes kept watching them.

«I think he’s honest, partly. But if he sells magical artefacts…»

«He has some communication channel, yes» Agnes sighed and, for a moment, it seemed that her mask was slipping. «I was so close…»

«I think» murmured Nathanael «that he could be bought. Making leverage on… his two friends. Bought, not threatened».

Agnes narrowed her eyes. «What should I do? Buy them a house?»

«No» the boy’s voice came suddenly. He must have an exceptional hearing. «No. But there is something I want».

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about this, I swear. As for all my stories. But it was a pretty busy moment in my life and so I procrastinated, as always.  
> But! This was fun! And a pair fo things about Commoner!Bart: his name is Tim (Bar-TIM-aeus, yeah, sorry pal); he knows the Resistance (aka Faquarl) but he really doesn't want to get involved; he just wants his little family safe; and we're talking about Queezle and Ptolemy, of course.


	6. Companionship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I pressed more my back against Queezle’s. Ptolemy wasn’t much tall for a fourteen-year-old, so the maiden surpassed me by all the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VI Prompt: A dynamic or a pairing

«You know» said Queezle, quietly «I’ve never been in war for real. Skirmishes, sure. Scuffles. But… not like this».

Under us, beyond the walls of Prague, the English army wasn’t on sight yet. But they were coming.

I pressed more my back against Queezle’s. Ptolemy wasn’t much tall for a fourteen-year-old, so the maiden surpassed me by all the head.

«Well, it’s not very different. Just… a lot of scuffles, all of them together». Blond hair tickled my shoulders. «Are you worried?»

She made a very unladylike snort. «Please. I’m perfectly capable to look after myself».

I made an even louder snort. «Oh, you are but a newbie!»

She shoved me with her shoulder and turned to watch me surly. I grinned at her.

«Have I to remember you who took care of that bunch of spies while you were too busy telling our master about his poor physical shape? And then taking your punishment?»[1]

I raised my hands. «No need to dig past pain up! And actually, you were laughing too».

She rolled her eyes. «Of course».

The silence that fell was pleasant, soft. It wasn’t bad having someone which you could talk intelligently with, since most of our colleagues was made of idiot foliots. Queezle was a breath of fresh air in that gloomy castle.[2]

«May I confess you something?»

I made magnanimous gesture. «Of course».

«Sometimes, I miss all of this while I’m in the Other Place. Not the slavery, of course, but… Earth. It’s so… fascinating».

«It has its merits» I agreed, swinging my legs down the balustrade.

«I envy you».

I turned around. The maiden looked at me with her head tilted, blond locks hiding her face. «You’ve seen so much, done so much…»

«I wouldn’t recommend it» I muttered. «It’s… hard».

«But it’s worth it».

I didn’t answer. Was it really worth it? Suffering, crawling, stealing, passing from one master to another, from one war to another for… seeing the starry sky now and then? Being carried away by the wind and the sun?

Queezle pressed her shoulder against mine. «Now don’t make the old grumpy face».

«Do I look old to you?» I replied, peeved.

She stared at me. «You do, when you frown and mutter like that. You’re old, all right, but there’s no reason to show it so».

I flailed, insulted. «I won’t accept this kind of offenses from who has never fought a real battle».

«It’s not fair!»

She shoved me so hard that she tossed me down the edge. I let myself fall for a moment, then I sprouted a pair of wings and flitted up again.

«Queezle! You could have killed me. Ah, there’s no respect for elders anymore».

She giggled, her green eyes bright, and she pulled me to sit near her again. «You’re too hard to kill. And actually, I’d rather wait for the battle. I’d rather have someone trusted in the melee with me». She leaned on me.

She was so… young, sometime.

«I agree wholeheartedly» I whispered.

[1] It was absolutely worth it.

[2] It hadn’t always been gloomy: in the golden age, it was splendid even for a djinni. I had told Queezle about parties, about court intrigues… she would have enjoyed those, too.


	7. The other minister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Head Auror Potter stared at the boy in front of him, dumbfounded. To be honest, there were two boys in front of him, but one of them was blatantly disinterested in the matter, and in addition he was wearing only a kind of short skirt. The other one, engulfed in a long black coat, stood up and held out his hand. «John Mandrake, minister of Internal Affairs. You are Potter, I presume».

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VII Prompt: Crossover
> 
> My first crossover ever AND my first hp fic ever. I still don't know what I've done.

Head Auror Potter stared at the boy in front of him, dumbfounded. To be honest, there were two boys in front of him, but one of them was blatantly disinterested in the matter, and in addition he was wearing only a kind of short skirt. The other one, engulfed in a long black coat, stood up and held out his hand. «John Mandrake, minister of Internal Affairs. You are Potter, I presume».

Harry kept staring at the kid who had just called him ‘Potter’. «I was supposed to talk with the Muggle Prime Minister».

«Mr Deveraux is busy» Mandrake replied. «Besides, I’ll ask you to not use that term».

«Look who’s talking» commented the dark boy behind his back. Mandrake scowled at him; the boy grinned back at him.

«I was saying, Mr Potter, we’d rather call… not gifted people, well, commoners. We are magicians, like you, even if I think you use another term».

«Are you really a minister?» Harry blurted out, having listened to a word, more or less. Look at that…

Mandrake stiffened; the half-dressed kid started laughing openly.

«Bartimaeus, shut up» Mandrake hissed. «Yes, Mr Potter, I am really a minister. And it seems hypocritical to me that _you_ should criticize _my_ age, seen your record».

Harry raised an eyebrow. «What do you know about me?»

«Oh, I’ve been gathering information» the other one, seemingly Bartimaeus, coughed excessively. Mandrake sighed. «My servant here had been gathering information» he corrected wearily. «It seems you have done nothing but saving the world since you were one year old, Mr Potter».

Harry looked that pompous boy more carefully. What the hell did he mean with ‘servant’? They were more or less the same age…

«I understand, Mr Potter, that your magic works in an innate way, more or less like the magic of dem… of spirits».

«Yes» said Harry, wondering what spirits were, or even better, what Mandrake meant with spirits. «We are born with magic. Or we’re not. And we use wands to control it». He pulled out his. Mandrake’s eyes turned round as marbles, and even Bartimaeus seemed interested.

«May I?»

After all, why not? Harry gave it to him. The boy, intrigued, turned the wand over in his pale fingers, then he tried to wave it. Nothing happened.

«Hey, Mandrake! What’ll happen if I try, in your opinion?»

Mandrake looked at Bartimaeus: he seemed conflicted, then, clearly, curiosity won. The dark-skinned boy took the wand and waved it: a ball of fire bolted out from it and went and set fire to the curtains.

Harry sprang up, tore the wand away from Bartimaeus’ grip and extinguished the fire quickly. Then he turned around to look at them, shocked.

Mandrake coughed. «I think djinn have too much magic for it to be channelled».

Bartimaeus snickered. Harry asked: «Djinn?»


End file.
